Fanfic 100 Collection
by Lady Eivel
Summary: My stories for the fanfic 100 table, centering around series three. Only those longer than oneshots will not be included. Latest story: Life: C'etait moi.
1. 003 Ends: All He Loved

**All He Loved**

Summary: He had always pictured the reunion as something happy, something wonderful. But what happens when your last hope is shattered? TenRose

Prompt: 003 Ends

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_Everything that I loved has either died or__ has__ been shattered to pieces_

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He had left Martha outside the room. He hadn't had to ask her- she knew him well enough to know what he needed of her. They had made it across the void, only to find that it was 70 years since Canary Wharf. Rose, now in her 90s, was dying. He felt like Peter Pan, at Wendy's deathbed. When had it come to this?

Canary Wharf. Yes, Rose was dying. But she had been dying when he was broken off. When the star died, Rose Tyler had died with it, and so had the Doctor.

Thinking back to what he had said when they had found Sarah- maybe the rest of their lives had been spent together, for what life had been left afterwards? A shell, full of meaningless babble, petty worlds needing to be saved, more companions to shut out. Ironic, how one could be surrounded by people, and yet be so totally alone. Or had Rose had something better? Had she built a new life, with her brother and her mother and her father and her Mickey, who had always been hers. Perhaps that was why he had been so cutting to the 'idiot'- male instinct, competitiveness. But she had been his, hadn't she?

She had said she loved him. She must have.

"Doctor." Breaking out of the nostalgia, he looked down to see Rose looking back at him, a weak smile on her face.

"Rose," he breathed, raising her hand to his face.

"Knew you'd get here in the end," she whispered, fingers trailing slowly down his face. There were no tears, there never had been. Not when Susan left, not when Adric died, not when Tegan left, not even when Gallifrey burned. Oh, he had screamed then. Raged at the universe, even as regeneration took hold. It had brought a kind of cold-heartedness, a dead weight of sorrow, rather than the hurricane of emotions there had been before, and he had not cried. Mourned, yes. Cried, never. Only John Smith had cried, the Doctor had never been able to.

And that had been when his entire species died. What was one human in comparison?

_Everything._

And as his first ever tear slipped down his cheek, Rose's smile only grew wider.

"Knew it was there."

"You did." He agreed, remembering the times she had urged him to let out some of the grief at his losses. The only result of that had been a stony face, followed by a stream of babble.

He had hated that.

"Doctor?"

"I'm here, Rose."

"Let me go. Them too. Please." He blinked at her, confused. She gave a small laugh.

"Another first. I make the Doctor confused."

"You always were unique."

"But I meant what I said. Live, Doctor. For me, for all of them. Promise me you'll live." The sentence had grown ever so slightly weaker even as she said it.

"I..." Tears blinded him, and he looked away for a moment, blinking furiously. When he looked back, Rose was still looking at him. But her eyes- so beautiful, with that spark of eternal mischief in them- would never see again.

She was gone.

As despair welled up in him, the Doctor allowed the sobs to come until he wept freely over the body. Rose was gone. Now there was nothing left.

He barely noticed Martha coming in, didn't even see her close Rose's eyes for him, hardly even felt her arms around him. And through the haze that filled his mind, he never remembered how he had clung to her.

And, not being a mind-reader, he never knew what she was thinking, as she watched the man she loved mourning another woman.

Knowing that, when her time came, he would not do the same for her.

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_And here another part of my tale ends, and another candle goes out._


	2. 022 Enemies: Master and Commander

**Master and Commander**

Summary: Yes, Martha still walked free. Yes, the Doctor and the immortal were still alive. But that just made it all the more _fun!_

Prompt: 022 Enemies

A/N This is told entirely from the Master's point of view. I'm not sure whether or not it is allowed, given my fanfic 100 table centres on the tenth doctor in series three, but there we go.

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He had always known he had the potential to be an artist. All his schemes had some flair to them. He scoffed at other 'villains'- they were so clichéd. Always using the same catchphrases. Even some of his old incarnations had been… underwhelming. After all, how could you take seriously someone with such a terrible beard? And the laugh! The cheesiness made him shudder. But he wasn't like that any more. Oh no. Some might think he was insane- and maybe he was, but the truly great hid their genius through eccentricity. Look at the Doctor, for Time's sake! Always underestimated for his habits, his looks, sometimes his appearance. But yet he always seemed to end up the victor.

Not this time though. Yes, that Martha brat was still out there, and his suspicions were strongly resting on the involvement of her TARDIS key. But no matter. After all, what could one defenceless human girl do? Not a lot. The Doctor was incapacitated, daily humiliated beyond belief (oh, how he loved that kennel!) while the weird immortal was locked up. The family that had thought themselves so important, so close to 'Mr Saxon', had been suitably dealt with. Oh, and even the 'greatest Torchwood team of all' had been tricked! If the reports he'd heard were to be believed, they were all dead from frostbite, falls from cliffs or from Toclafane attack. They'd even brought back the body of the technician to prove it (the look on Harkness' face had been _priceless_). Life was looking good.

And then there was the fact that Harkness- the great immortal- was, well, immortal. And as the Master played God with Tokyo, with the human-mechano hybrids and with the human race's minds in general, there was always their little 'sessions' to look forward to.

Scissor Sisters. Such a lovely name. He'd had them brought up to play for him in person, but they'd tried to escape and he'd had to order the Toclafane to destroy them. A pity, but at least he still had the CDs he'd collected. A perfect soundtrack to his life. And in the evenings, as 'Track Three' blared from his speakers, he'd pay Harkness a visit with his scissors. And in the next hour or so, he'd remark over and over how amazed he repeatedly felt at how easily human flesh tore. The cuts and the blood made such pretty patterns, and with the music and the screams for a backdrop, it was sheer _bliss_. Of course, Jack didn't think so. And the screams probably interrupted Lucy's 'beauty sleep', which he had to admit she seemed to need now. Life here didn't seem to be suiting her- she grew daily paler and thinner. Maybe it was the food, or the atmosphere. Maybe the beatings he gave her on occasion.

But why bother with that? Who wanted sleep and depression, when there was a world to crush? An eternity to enslave? Not him. No, not at all.

So here he sat. Master and Commander. Monarch of all he surveyed. And when it got a bit boring, there was always an immortal to maim, or an arch-enemy to humiliate, or a wannabe freedom fighter to find. Overall, the whole thing was rather fun. He wondered, when she crossed Russia, if she got frostbite at any point. If she dehydrated in Africa. It would be nice if, when she came back, she had a few less toes. There wouldn't be so much work to do for him to remove the rest.

He knew he'd get her in the end. London would undoubtedly be her last place of call- humans were predictable like that. A sort of finale. They always needed one. He chuckled. Martha Jones would get one, certainly. As the rockets blasted into the air with their deadly messages, she would watch. And despair. And die.

He liked the sound of it. Yes, she still walked free. Yes, the Doctor and the immortal were still alive.

But that just made it all the more _fun!_


	3. 031 Sunrise: Sunrise

**Sunrise**

Summary: As a thankyou gift, the Doctor takes Martha to see something special.

Prompt: 031 Sunrise

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Martha strode into the console room. The Doctor looked up as she entered.

"Just to say, thankyou." She raised her eyebrows.

"For?"

"Those three months."

"Oh." He depressed a lever and hit something else with a hammer. Finally, they stopped. "So where are we?" He smiled at her.

"Have a look. But don't go out the door." Martha raised an eyebrow, but quickly moved over to the doors. She opened the left one and gasped.

"Oh my god…" The Doctor flicked a last lever before coming over. He threw the right door open.

"Earth, 2007. 10,000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean, give or take." He looked down at her. "But that isn't the best part. Watch."

Until that moment, it had been dark. Martha had just been able to see the clouds in the dim starlight. But as the Doctor finished, a streak of light appeared over the horizon. Then another, and another. The Doctor grinned before turning round. Martha sat down with her legs dangling from the doorway. She turned her head.

"Where are you going?"

"Breakfast. Sunrise takes about half an hour. What do you feel like eating?" Martha thought for a moment.

"Ice cream. Strawberry ice cream. Haven't had it in ages." The Doctor nodded.

"Be right back." Martha turned back to the view as he left. It was getting lighter by the second, black sky turning swiftly through purple to a deep blue. The stars faded as the clouds metamorphosed into various colours, as if they couldn't quite decide which one was best. Delicate pinks and fiery oranges replaced the grey they had been in the earlier twilight as the Doctor returned with two tubs of ice cream. They quickly lay forgotten as the stunning spectacle continued to take Martha's breath away.

After a while, she shivered. It was cold at this height. The Doctor noticed and shuffled closer to wrap his coat around her. Once it was safely in place, she smiled at him.

"Thankyou." He shook his head.

"No. That's what I should be saying to you. Sorry as well." There was silence for a moment, the sunrise continuing unheeded by the pair.

"You sure you're not cold?" The Doctor shook his head.

"Time Lord biology. Gallifrey…" He swallowed. "Gallifrey was a lot colder than Earth." Martha nodded. Her hand moved slightly closer to his as they turned their attention back to the sunrise before them.

Neither of them really knew how long it lasted. Eventually though, it was over. The sky was its normal shade of blue, the clouds a fluffy white. The Doctor got up and offered Martha his hand. She smiled as they spent another moment looking out over the scene outside the TARDIS.

"When I was a kid and we went on a plane, I used to think the clouds were solid. Used to want to go out and play on them. Even after I knew they were just water, I still felt like that." The Doctor grinned.

"You humans think of the most poetic things." He drew her into a hug. "That's what I like about you. Even though you have some horrific wars, make the most lethal weapons, you still think like that. Like you want to reach out and touch the sky."

"I was wondering…"

"Yes?"

"Could we go a bit lower?" He smiled at her.

"Course." He walked over to the console and pressed a button. They descended slowly and stopped in the middle of a cloud. None of the wispy vapour entered the TARDIS, but it was still close enough to touch. Martha held on to the doorway and stretched out a hand. The mist was icy and took her breath away, but she enjoyed the feeling nonetheless.

"Thankyou." She breathed as she left the doorway.

"You'd better shut the doors. Unless…"

"Nah. Don't worry." He nodded as she pulled the doors shut. On the left one, however, she slipped. She gasped as she began to fall, but was stopped. The Doctor stood there with a worried look on his face as, with a hand clutching her arm, he pulled her back. When she was safely back inside the TARDIS, he closed the door.

"What was that for?"

"What? I couldn't help it!" He hugged her again, this time closer, resting his head on hers.

"Just don't do anything like that again. I don't want to lose you." She returned the hug, her head burrowing into his shoulder.

"You won't. I promise." They stood like that for a while. "Doctor?"

"Yes?" Martha broke free of the hug, but did not leave his arms as she looked him in the eye.

"I forgive you."


	4. 034 Not Enough: Existence

**Existence**

Summary: He knows. She knows. She doesn't know that he knows. TenMartha, set post-42.

Prompt: 034 Not Enough

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He knows.

He's seen it far too often not to.

Did she really think he was that oblivious?

She knows.

She wishes he knew.

But she's far too shy to say.

He knows.

She's shy, but obvious.

And he has to admit…

When another man kisses her

There is a little monster that rises up in his chest.

And the monster wants to wrench that man away from her.

She knows.

She doesn't know why she let that man kiss her.

Maybe to see what reaction it got.

But she has to admit…

Nothing happened.

But she can hope. Oh yes, she can always hope.

Imagine there was a tiny change in that expression that had nothing to do with the pain.

He knows.

She knows.

She doesn't know that he knows.


	5. 052 Fire: Night and Day

**Night and Day**

Summary: It's ironic, really…

Prompt: 052 Fire

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It's ironic.

There's a sun in his head.

Well, not quite.

A few remains of its mental power.

And during the day, when other suns shine on him, he can hold that sun back.

But at night…

Night is when the darkness falls.

When the screams come.

When the fires rage behind his eyes.

When the sun takes its revenge again and again and again.

But in the day, he holds it back.

Puts it away.

Forgets it.

Almost.

When sun shines around him, the sun in his head is defeated.

When night falls, the sun comes out.

Truly ironic.

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	6. 072 Fixed: Llévame

**Llévame**

Summary: What if the Weeping Angels had sent Martha somewhere else? Her training had never prepared her for this, no training ever could.

Prompt: 072 Fixed

A/N The title comes from a song by the Spanish group Kudai. Translated, it means 'take me away'.

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She'd thought some of the things she'd seen with the Doctor were foul. The clouds in which the Macra huddled, for example, had been pretty bad, as had the witches. But nothing, _nothing_, had ever been so bad as this- what human beings could do to each other.

They were bringing casualties in by the dozen. It was sick, but you could tell when the next lot would arrive by the sounds from somewhere over there. A huge explosion and five minutes later, you'd have people running through the tent openings. There weren't even any proper buildings to put them in.

The first time she'd seen an amputation the way they did it here, she'd thrown up. And again when she'd seen the gas victims. The sights would stay with her forever.

God, she hated those angels. She was almost certain they were the reason she was there. One minute she and the Doctor had been exploring that house, the next thing they knew, they'd come under attack. They'd got the Doctor first- she had no idea where he'd gone. Then another one had touched her and she was falling through an eternity of pain. When she'd woken up, she'd been in a forest with the sound of guns and bombs coming from a place not too far off.

And for all she'd stood up in those assemblies back at school and talked about these events, it kept striking her how little she'd actually known. How much emphasis had been placed on those who had died, and not on those who had survived. In a way, the survivors were the unlucky ones. Those who weren't wounded had seen their friends mown down, or simply die from what they had breathed in. Those who were wounded, well. Most would never walk again. And most of them were teenagers, for crying out loud! Boys of 20, 18, 16- even 14 years old were out there, killing and dying and hurting.

And it was the fault of other humans. She really didn't know what the Doctor saw in her species. They were so stupid. So prejudiced. So hateful. So _finite_.

As the days slowly passed, she began to grow accustomed to the wounds. The sight of men drowning on dry land. The sound of their screams as the bombs hit, as the gas destroyed them from the inside out, as their limbs were hacked off.

It wasn't the war that terrified her any more. It was her own inhumanity. But maybe that was a good thing. Who wanted to be part of a race that could do all this?

But when the Doctor finally arrived, triumphantly waving a machine at her and babbling as she blinked at him, the humanity came flooding back. Literally. And the Doctor was sweet for once. Just held her, said nothing. Got her some tea as she wept and babbled herself, trying to come to terms with living in a horror film.

She hadn't been able to face Remembrance Day after that. And when she remembered how they hid in 1913, how she'd lived alongside all those boys who would only go marching off to that war a year later, she cried all over again. And the Doctor held her again- whispered his apologies in her ear, comforted and rocked her as she sobbed into his suit (later he complained she had got it wet, but only to make her smile).

But when he told her that Tim, the tiny boy who had saved the world, would survive, she had been persuaded to see his last Remembrance Day. And so it was that at 80 years of age, Tim saw them again, wearing their poppies with pride. Pride in him. Pride in all those who had fought and served in and survived the massacres that had been the two world wars.

They knew he'd die in the next few months. But he'd die in peace. Rest that way too. And Martha's thoughts lightened somewhat. Yes, the Doctor still mourned the loss of Jo, and likely would never return Martha's own love. Yes, she would never forget the horrors that had taken place in that tiny medical tent. Yes, the human race would fight again and again and again until everything fell into dust.

But that tiny bit of history, those four years of lies and hatred and cut-short lives and the extra six years that followed later, that was the darkness before the dawn. The dawn of the peace where people could lead their own, tiny lives without threat, at least in some places. And the Doctor had assured her that there would be one day when war was gone forever on her planet.

That was comfort enough.

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	7. 087 Life: C'etait Moi

**C'etait****moi**

Summary: Martha may well be feeling overshadowed by her predecessor, but an observer might not see it that way. And Bad Wolf can see all.

Prompt: 087 Life

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_I'm the one who made you laugh, who made you feel and made you sad. I'm not sorry for what we did, for who we were. I'm not sorry I'm not her._Hilary Duff- _Who's that girl?_

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Never trust a man with small feet. I don't know who it was who told me that particular gem. Might've been Mum. Might've been one of her friends, bustling round our flat importantly to share gossip and talk about me like I wasn't there. A little culture of slander and deceit. And I missed it, why?

But that's beyond the point. Because, two days, eleven hours and nine minutes ago, my world fell apart. Because Torchwood finally found a way to see through the void, and perhaps get through. And at first, I was ecstatic. I was the project leader, after all, and the only one with a real reason to return. But maybe that reason doesn't want me any more. It's been, what, a few weeks for him? And already there's another girl hanging off his arm. Like a little trophy. And it doesn't half hurt. I know her name- Martha. Martha Jones. I looked her up, too. Over here, she died aged eleven- running in front of a car to push her little sister out the way. Said sister now works for us, as it happens. Odd how things seem to tie in together.

But back to the main point. The portal between worlds will close in... eight minutes, and by that time I have to decide. Will I go through, and risk his rejection? Or will I stay, and shut my old life out forever? Seven minutes now, and counting. Downwards. I hated Countdown. And I'm thinking about that, why?

If I were the Doctor, I'd probably be babbling my head off. Something about the human psyche, and relationships and temporal/spatial physics. But I'm not him. I never will be, can never be and, to be honest, don't especially want to be. Despite the travels and the knowledge, he has nothing, really. Except us- and, like he himself said, he gets through us humans so quickly.

Six minutes. Stay or go? Rejection or... what? Heartache? Having seen that, it's something I can doubt.

Doctor, why? How did you learn to move on? Master of the rebound, it seems, despite your constant moodiness over your planet. And while it may seem callous of me to say so, and much as I can fully understand the grief, well. Didn't I mean something to you? Or was the sentence so abruptly cut off by the power loss intended to be a rejection of my love?

Yes, Doctor. I loved you.

Still do.

Four minutes, and I'm getting up. My decision is made.

Three minutes, and I'm leaving the office. Everyone's looking at me now, and I take a breath.

Two minutes, and I'm telling them my choice.

One minute, and they're carrying out my instructions. And now...

Time's up.

The portal's closed.

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End file.
